


Read the Page of Destiny

by Allekha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Coaches, Fluff, Gen, Mentors, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, mentions of disordered eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/pseuds/Allekha
Summary: Yakov takes on energetic little Victor and soon after, quieter little Georgi, as his newest students. Between hangups from their previous coach and Victor's ambitions for quads, they're both quite a handful to coach - but talented, enthusiastic handfuls, at least.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yakov Week Day 1: Yakov the coach | beginnings
> 
> Contains: discussion of bad coaching practices by an OC (not by Yakov)  
> discussion of unhealthy attitudes towards weight/nutrition in dance and skating (not endorsed on-page)

It wasn't in the least unusual for Yakov to get calls expressing interest in his coaching. He had trained his share of champions, and the parents of young children dreaming of the Olympics, or older skaters looking for a coaching change, often sought him out, looking to have those same results.

What was unusual was the attitude of the woman in front of him, who had called about her son Victor Nikiforov. The name was familiar, though only a little; one of his students had a little brother, training under someone else, who had been skating at a local novice competition some months ago, and Yakov had gone to watch with him. The little brother had been in the middle of the field, and, honestly, children that age usually weren't the most exciting to watch. Yakov had remembered Victor, however, who had attacked his jumps with confidence and his steps with excitement, and easily taken first place.

Usually, parents played nice, or wanted to brag about their children, or, occasionally, bombarded Yakov with questions. Victor's mother was quiet, listening as Yakov talked about the schedule and program at the rink. Victor himself squirmed in his seat, looking around Yakov's office. He was small for twelve, and Yakov had remembered correctly that his hair was even paler than his mother's. Silver was so odd to see on a child – he wondered if that was natural, or if he had some kind of health condition.

Her face changed when he asked if she had any questions, just slightly, as she nodded. "Would it be alright if he went to get his skates on and warm up before you take him on the ice, while we finish talking?" she asked, turning her head toward Victor. Victor perked up at the mention of skating and swung his legs.

It wasn't that long until their ice time started. "Go ahead," he said. "Let me just find someone to show you the way."

Once Victor had been sent off, they sat down again. Victor's mother had been keeping a blank expression, but now there was a decided downturn to her lips, and a slight angle to her eyebrows. "Yes, I have a few," she said. "Do you make them weight themselves in front of each other?"

He blinked at the abrupt query. That wasn't a question he'd ever received. "No." He'd been through that himself, as a competitor, and he'd always hated it. Hated feeling ashamed every time he stepped on the scale and the number was the same as it always was, higher than it was for his shorter, naturally-slimmer rink mates. As far as he could tell, it had never done him any good, so he didn't make his students go through it, either.

Victor's mother relaxed marginally. "You know his old coach, surely," she said. "What do you think of her?"

Yes. He did know her. Skating was a small world, and she was impossible to avoid as one of the more successful Russian coaches. Successful with children, anyway, and maybe for a couple of years with the older skaters who had tried training with her. But he'd stood near her at enough pre-competition practices, watched enough of how she acted with her students, heard enough about her methods through the grapevine, to understand that she was not a very kind person, and there was a reason why Yakov's skaters had outlasted several of hers, and still came out on top in the end, too.

Still, it would be unprofessional to say anything too nasty about her. "She has results," he said, less an opinion than an observation of a fact.

When he said nothing further, Victor's mother nodded. "I don't want her near my Vitya ever again." Yakov raised an eyebrow; badmouthing a former coach wasn't a good sign. "No, I know, I sound like some crazy controlling mother. Listen to me. She weighs her students in front of each other every day, before they can get on the ice. I go to another coach and ask her, and she says almost the same thing! I used to be in ballet, you know. Myself and my sister, and she ended up in the hospital because of it. You know how the world of ballet is – they want to you to be as strong as an ox and as light as a fairy, they want you to live on air. It drives you crazy."

"My wife is a former ballet dancer." She'd never been too neurotic about her diet, but, well, she was Lilia. She was precise in everything, and also a force of nature in her own right, so if she wanted a piece of chocolate, she had a piece of chocolate with her tea.

"Then surely you understand? My sister still has bad health from those days. I was so scared between her and what my teachers said to me that I almost had a breakdown. I don't want my son to go through that. And his old coach, she tells a growing child off if he gains more than so many grams from day to day. He loves food, so I'm not worried about him starving himself yet, but I couldn't have him stay there. Besides, his coach has said other things – I don't like it. You have skaters who are twenty-five, twenty-seven. They must be healthy. So I called you."

Yakov sighed and found a pen on his desk to fiddle with. "There are no guarantees in sport," he said. "But I do try to keep my students healthy."

"And I want Vitya to be able to skate for as long as he can. He loves it so much. I want him to have a coach I can trust him with." She folded her hands in her lap, falling quiet again.

"I don't make my skaters starve themselves. And I try to make them see sense with regard to injury." Sometimes it was difficult. A young skater who desperately wanted spots at Euros and Worlds wouldn't listen if he told them to skip Nationals so they could be on the national team the next year instead of injuring themselves out of competition this one.

She nodded. A corner of her mouth quirked up, the closest thing she'd had to a smile since he'd met her and Victor at the doors of the rink. "I know. Vitya is stubborn."

He checked the clock. It was time to go see Victor's try-out. His mother seemed mollified, at least for the moment, and she said little more as they walked down the halls.

Victor was fidgeting when they got to the rink, doing warm-up moves, but cycling through them quickly, with no real rhyme or reason. He kept popping up to eye the zamboni as it finished its last circle on the ice. As soon as he saw them, though, he dashed over. "Mama, are you going to watch me skate today?"

"This one time."

Victor hugged her, hard enough to make her lose her balance for a moment. Yakov cleared his throat. "You can get on the ice now."

Yakov had rarely seen a child run so fast in skates to jump on the ice. He was almost surprised to see him pause to take his skate guards off first.

He had good speed on the ice, and nice crossovers as he turned around the end of the rink. When Yakov directed him to start his short program, he smiled the whole way through, from his open starting pose, to the step sequence that had him skipping like a little fairy across the ice, and even after his jumps, like he was happy just to land them. The music was light and happy, energetic, and it suited him, though Yakov could have done with less flailing of his arms. At least Victor appeared to be having fun. That was nice to see, especially given his age.

His free program had more modern music, as fast and energized as Victor was at the beginning. The wild movements suited this style of music better, though the second half calmed down somewhat. Yakov could see Victor trying to control himself, even if he didn't always succeed, and the spiral he held for long seconds down the side of the rink wasn't bad at all. When the song ended, he was breathing hard, and he sat down on the ice for a moment, but he hadn't made any major mistakes. It was the same sort of quality that had made Yakov remember him, months ago. Technical excellence, combined with an ability to project and bright charisma, despite the fact that he definitely needed artistic refinement.

Victor waved to his mother, then skated back over to Yakov, who offered him a drink of water. "You seemed to be having fun."

Victor nodded vigorously. His hair was long for a boy, and it flopped all over the place. "I love skating more than anything!"

"So you work hard at it?"

More nodding. "I want to be the best skater in the _world_. And win Nationals and go to the Olympics and – and everything. Coach – my old coach, I mean – sometimes she says I slack off too much, but I don't _think_ I do. I just like skating."

"That's a good attitude to have." Intrinsic motivation was always better than the kids who were being pushed by their parents. And since Victor had given him the opening: "What do you think of your old coach?" he asked. Not that he meant to pry, but – he was curious, after Victor's mother had gone off on such a rant earlier. It didn't hurt to try and get a better idea of whether his coaching style and a potential student's personality would line up, either.  
  
For all his mother hated her, Victor smiled. "She's helped teach me lots of jumps! It's hard work, but it's fun. She pushes us a lot so we do well."  
  
And it did work, didn't it. For a while. "How does she teach you?"  
  
Victor shrugged and did an absent swizzle backward, then forward, rocking in place. "We just do things until we get it right. And she yells at us about things to fix. She yells a lot, but I don't care what she says to me. Um, but." He looked left and right, at all the other people minding their business on the rink, then pushed forward into the boards and lowered his voice. "I don't care, but she can get really mean. She made Zhora cry last week."  
  
"Zhora?"  
  
"We started training with her at the same time. He's only a day younger than I am. But he's not as good, so she yells at him a lot, and he's really, like, um, nice, so it hurts him a lot more. I mean, he still works hard. But last week he injured his ankle, so he couldn't do his jumps as well, and she got angry at him when he kept missing them. And at the end of our ice time, she said that if he kept being like that she would throw him out. It was like she really meant it, even though he's still better than most people there, and it was only one day. And then he was crying in the locker room." He looked down at his skates, scraping them gently across the surface of the ice like a child still trying to learn how to stop.  
  
"I see," said Yakov. What a cruel thing to say to an injured twelve-year-old, and in front of his rink mates.  
  
"I gave him my tissues," Victor volunteered, peering up at him through his long bangs.  
  
"That was kind of you." He cleared his throat. "We only have so long on the ice. Why don't you show me your triples?"  
  
Victor looked relieved to be getting back to work. He was clearly the kind of person who loved to show off, and he had a determined expression on his face as he sped down the rink and set up the first jump Yakov had asked him for. Yakov watched each jump carefully, though there wasn't really a question in his mind of whether he was going to take Victor as a student or not, unless there was some major issue left to discover – he was advanced for his age, seemed like a good worker, and had a natural charm. The programs he had shown off earlier had been very good for a twelve-year-old, though Lilia would no doubt have had some things to say about his movements.  
  
He had a excellent height and rotation speed on all of his jumps, and when he fell on a few of them, he laughed and sprang back up. Some of his technique needed improvement, however. And while he was quick across the ice, sometimes he couldn't quite control that speed. It was especially apparent with his spins, which were fast, but wobbled all over the place.  
  
When they were finished, Victor gave him a big smile before running off to remove his skates. Yakov glanced at the other children still on the ice. He couldn't help but think: he tried not to take on too many students, but two of his had retired this year, and the group wasn't too large. He wondered if Victor's friend was as good as Victor thought he was.  
  
_She made Zhora cry._  
  
Not that Yakov would ever pick up a student out of simple pity. But if he had talent, and wanted a coaching change, it wouldn't hurt to take on another novice.

He spoke to Victor's mother for a few minutes, letting her know that he'd been happy to have him at the rink and that he would be fine with starting a trial period right away. Before he could try to ask about Victor's friend, though, Victor himself came running back over, dragging his bag behind him. "Do you have everything?" his mother asked.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, dropping his bag. He bounced forward and threw his arms around Yakov. Yakov started and looked down at him. "Thank you," Victor said, his voice high and sweet.

"Vitya," his mother groaned, dropping her head into her hand.

"You're welcome," Yakov said. He tentatively patted Victor's head. "I expect to see you here on Monday. We have a lot of things to talk about and work on." His spins, his lutz edge – he seemed like he might do well with Lilia, too. He should show him to her.

"I'll be there!" Victor grinned and stepped back.

It wasn't until after he and his mother had left that Yakov realized he'd forgotten to ask after the distraction. But in his office, later, it didn't take too much trouble to find a list of his (now former) coach's students. 'Zhora' could only be Georgi Popovich. The name didn't recall anyone right away, but there were always so many small children, and Yakov hadn't been paying especially close attention to them.

Getting contact information for his parents took a little longer. But someone – a man with a rough voice – did pick up when Yakov called.

It was a strange conversation. Georgi's father apparently didn't know much about skating, and didn't know why his son might want or need to switch coaches when he was doing fine as he was, as far as his father could tell. Yakov was used to students coming to him – more hopeful talents wanted to train here than he or the other coaches could hope to work with – and it was odd to feel like he was poaching, to have to persuade someone to let him try out their child.

But finally, Georgi's father put down the phone for a moment to ask Georgi himself. For the most part, Yakov could only hear faint sounds on his end, but a shouted _Yakov Feltsman?!_ came through clearly enough to hear.

"I think he'd like to try out for you," Georgi's father said dryly. "So should I just bring him? And if you'd like to work with him, we let his current coach know?"

"Make sure you do it properly," said Yakov, looking at his schedule for a good time. "Bring flowers."

Georgi turned out to be a wide-eyed boy, dark hair on pale skin. The smile he gave Yakov was a little nervous, but he wasn't shaking or anything. Yakov had only been speaking with his father (tall, though not excessively so – Georgi was on the taller side for his age, too) for a few minutes when there was a loud gasp from behind him.  
  
Victor hadn't even been here a week, and Yakov could already recognize it.  
  
"Zhora!" Victor flew past him and barely skidded to a halt in front of Georgi. "You're going to train here, too?"  
  
"Um." Georgi twisted his hands together, but then he brightened. "I'm trying out."  
  
Victor, clearly thinking that the matter was set already, started to excitedly chatter with him about it. When it was time for them to go get their skates on, Yakov had to put a hand on his shoulder and tug him back a few centimeters to get his attention.  
  
On the ice, Victor took off right away – so far, he'd done that at every session, although the instructor for the edges class had managed to reign him in a bit. Then he'd fit right in, concentrating as hard as anyone else, standing out only for being smaller than the older skaters.  
  
Georgi, on the other hand, quietly did some warm-up, then came over to the boards, awaiting instructions. "Let's go through your programs, first," said Yakov, and then remembering what Victor had said, added, "I heard your ankle was hurt. Is it still bothering you?"  
  
He shook his head. "It's fine! It doesn't really hurt any more. I can jump."  
  
"If you're sure. You don't need to aggravate it – if you need to do singles—"  
  
Georgi waved his hands in front of him. "Really! It's healed now." He still had a hint of nerves about him, but he gave Yakov an earnest smile.  
  
His short wasn't all that impressive, although it wasn't entirely Georgi's fault. Sure, he singled a jump anyway and put a hand down on his double axel, but he was doing the best he could with the simplistic choreography, trying to lend it some personality with his expressions and his hands. And the music! It was low-key, bland classical that had nothing to lend to the program. Yakov found it a baffling choice.  
  
Georgi crossed the ice as Yakov set up the music for his free skate, doing little circles, his eyes on the ice. He knew he hadn't done that well. Yakov eyed him as he fiddled with the music system, but he took a few deep breaths and settled into a starting pose, ready to skate.  
  
This program was much better; the music was classical again, light, but had some actual character to it. Georgi seemed to be more into this one, too, leaning harder into his edges, his skating freer, his movements more dramatic, a lighthearted smile on his face the entire time. The interpretation was quite good, actually, and Yakov found himself almost wanting to smile with Georgi as he sank into the ending pose: his hands clasped to his chest, then released in front of him as he gazed upward, looking as though he was watching a bird or a butterfly take off.  
  
_She made Zhora cry._  
  
Yakov had a laundry list of improvements Georgi could make to that program. But he couldn't imagine telling this child – this one with such a hopeful look on his face as he shook his limbs out and waved at Victor – anything that would give him reason to cry and think he had to earn his favor back.  
  
Besides, there was nothing especially wrong with him. His jumps were heavier than Victor's, but his spins were better, and someone had taught him solid basic skating skills. Given music he could connect to, Yakov could see real hope for him, even after just a few minutes of watching him.  
  
And while he directed Georgi, who obediently showed off his other skills, Yakov already found himself wondering what he could do with a program by Lilia, or one of the other choreographers who worked with his younger skaters. Yakov wasn't fond of giving them music that was too dramatic until they were old enough to carry it off, but maybe something like that would help bring out Georgi's stronger points.  
  
He wasn't as good as Victor was, no. Not at this moment. But he certainly had talent and potential. If his coach couldn't appreciate that, it was her problem.  
  
"Do you want to skate here?" he asked Georgi when he was getting off the ice.  
  
He looked up. "May I?"  
  
"Would I be asking if I didn't think you had the ability to improve? We'd have a lot to work on, and I have high expectations for everyone I teach." Before he could say anything more, Georgi was already nodding, his hands clasped together as his mouth widened into a smile and his eyes started to sparkle. "I also plan on having you be able to skate for another fifteen years. So tell me if you get hurt again. Do you hear me? I'll drag you off the ice myself if I find out you're hiding injuries instead of letting us treat them properly."  
  
Georgi swallowed, but he nodded again, this time more slowly. Victor, coming off the ice behind him, laughed. "Yakov's _scary_!" he said, sing-song, and for some reason threw himself into Yakov's side and hugged him.  
  
"That goes for you, too," Yakov grumbled. "Anyway, I'll talk with your father. Vitya, take him to your ballet class after you get your skates off. You know where it is?" Georgi seemed like he might be too sensitive for Lilia's teaching style – if not, Yakov could always ask her later – but the instructor for the group lessons here at the rink was a touch gentler.  
  
"Yep!" He sprang away and started off.  
  
Georgi turned to follow him, then turned back. "Um. Thank you! I'll work really hard!"  
  
"Good. You're already very expressive. If you put in the effort, I expect that you can do well."  
  
That got him another smile, before Georgi left. He seemed like a sweet child. Maybe Yakov was finally going to break his streak of troublesome skaters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor has a surprise for Yakov, Georgi gets a real program, and Yakov does some thinking.

After two weeks, Georgi and Victor had settled in quite well; they could keep up in the group exercises and classes, and they got along with the older skaters. Victor was charming and precocious (and Yakov had seen, more than once, another child, or even a couple of the older girls, helping to braid his hair), but also content to practice on his own, without trying to steal the attention he adored so much. Georgi gained confidence after the first few days, and out of all of Yakov's students, he was the only one who actually liked following instructions, which gave Yakov's throat a bit of a rest. He applied himself seriously at every lesson, and a work ethic like that could take him far.  
  
They were both on the ice after school, and Yakov left them and the others alone for a few minutes to talk with one of the assistant coaches. Halfway through their conversation, however, her eyes went from his face to the rink behind him, and her forehead wrinkled. Yakov turned around to look at what was bothering her. All he could see was Victor, laughing in what looked like the aftermath of a jump, and Georgi, giving him a tiny little clap for it. "How old is that boy, again?" she asked. "Ten?"  
  
He turned back to her. "Twelve, both of them. What was it?"  
  
"You didn't see? He was jumping...."  
  
Yakov twisted again when she trailed off. Victor had sped up across the ice and started to set up a jump. Yakov didn't see what was bothering her as Victor turned and hit the ice with his toe pick, launching into a triple—  
  
A _quad_ toe loop.  
  
Yakov very calmly took his skate guards off. He very calmly got onto the ice. He very calmly geared up to shout Victor's name, but Victor spotted him first and came racing over. "How did it look? Zhora said it had all the rotations!"  
  
There were ten minutes left in the session. "Cool down and get off the ice."  
  
Victor's face fell into confusion. "But—"  
  
"That was a simple sentence, Vitya. I said _cool down_ and then _get off the ice_." Georgi had skated closer, and Yakov looked over at him. "Was she teaching you a quad, too?"  
  
He shrank a little. "Only the toe loop. But I've never really landed it."  
  
"Only—" He whirled back to Victor. "Was she having you do more than one?!"  
  
"I can do the salchow, too." He straightened. "I can get most of it rotated without falling." He looked extremely put out that Yakov wasn't praising him; when he shifted his weight, Yakov grabbed his shoulder for fear that he was about to skate away and try to show him.  
  
"Both of you," he said. "In my office when the session is finished."  
  
Georgi bit his lip, while Victor pouted further. Yakov glared at them, and they both reluctantly skated off to finish up the session. When they were gone, he put one hand to his forehead and the other on his hip, already feeling a headache coming on. It had been difficult not to shout at them too much, but that would have been unfair. Yakov wasn't angry at them, primarily.  
  
He hadn't told them they couldn't do quads, after all. Because he wouldn't have thought it needed saying. They were _twelve_. And Victor had good height on his jumps, yes, he was advanced for his age, of course, but to be teaching him two quads when he was so young was insanity. Even most grown men couldn't do them! He still had so much to work on with his basic technique, too. Yakov had been thinking, in a couple of years, maybe they could start training one, since it seemed to be becoming a requirement for the top men nowadays, but slowly, safely.  
  
In his head, he cursed their old coach. Quads would impress the judges, sure. But they were so young. Georgi still needed plenty of work on his triples; Victor's were already improving after just a couple of weeks.  
  
The assistant coach skated over and cleared her throat. Yakov couldn't help but ask, despite his feelings on the matter: "He did have all the rotations, didn't he?" Just for confirmation, to make sure he'd seen it correctly himself.  
  
She nodded.

They finished their conversation, and Yakov got off the ice ahead of Victor and Georgi. Victor was visibly sulking when the Zamboni finally forced all the skaters off, not looking at Yakov as he pulled his guards on and stomped off toward the locker room. Georgi just looked nervous.

At least he didn't have to chase them down; after a few minutes, they came into his office and plopped into the chairs in front of Yakov's desk. Georgi's fingers clung to the seat. Victor pulled his knees up to his chest, still not looking Yakov in the eye.

"Are we in trouble?" Georgi blurted, before Yakov could even open his mouth.

"Not this time."

Victor finally peered up. "My old coach always liked it when I did quads."

"Your old coach doesn't know what she's doing," Yakov snapped. It was tempting to run his mouth off about her like Victor's mother had, but he managed to restrain himself. "Yes, Vitya, it's very impressive you can do a quad toe at your age. It's also very dangerous! Your body is still developing, your bones are still soft, your joints – all these triples are bad enough if you do too many. You see how I only tell you to do this much in one session, and then to work on something else?"

"But I like practicing quads."

"I don't care." Victor scowled further. "We're not here to do what you like! My job is to look after you and help you grow, and that means that you – both of you – do not do quads by yourself, not until I've decided that you can practice them, and seen you do enough training on the trampoline, off-ice, in the harness, and with my supervision, so we know that you can do them safely. I don't care what your old coach said."

Both of them were quiet for a moment, Victor pouting, Georgi looking... relieved, actually. "So it's okay if I can't do it yet?" he asked.

"You're _twelve_. There are men who have been skating since before you were born that don't do quads. In my day, we didn't even do triple axels! And do you see people your age landing quads in competition? Besides, there are plenty of other things to work on first – if you're still struggling to get all your triples rotated consistently and to get stable air position, why on Earth was she having you try a quad toe? Just because that's your best jump? Vitya, you can't take your lutz off from an outside edge and your jump exits aren't half as good as your entrances, and I'm not entirely happy with your axels, either." 

He took a breath. Georgi swallowed, but didn't look away. "So when can we do them?" Victor whined.

"When I say so. Don't look at me like that. I'm not saying you can never do them again. But we have to do it carefully, in accordance with the condition of your body, the same way as with triples, or even spin positions. Do you think I'd let you do Biellmanns if your back was injured, or if I thought you weren't flexible enough and would hurt yourself trying?"

Victor looked considering. "I guess not," he said.

"Do you understand now?"

Both of them nodded. Victor still looked much less happy than Georgi; Yakov was sure this wasn't the last time he'd have to have this conversation with him. Maybe next time he'd break out the horror stories about overuse injuries he'd seen, or describe exactly how long Victor could be forced off the ice if he got a stress fracture. Victor loved skating so much that the idea of not being able to do it for weeks ought to serve as a warning.

He'd have to teach them quads, anyway, if they wanted to have them for their debut as seniors. But it didn't have to be right this minute, and it sure as hell wouldn't be on the ice with no safety equipment the first time.

Yakov kept a close eye on Victor, but he didn't try another quad again that week, or the next, or the next, although he did bug Yakov about training for them twice. So maybe he had a bit of sense in his skull anyway.

~!~

The summer passed mostly uneventfully. There were a couple of minor injuries, but nothing too bad. Lilia was busy doing choreography, but after watching Georgi for a bit, she agreed to make a program for him as well, and Yakov contacted another choreographer he liked for the other one.  
  
The hardest part was always choosing the music. They were both young enough that Yakov had no problem with simply assigning them a program, but for Georgi, he and Lilia took the time to run a few selections by him to see what he connected to best. His eyes lit up on a gorgeous, romantic piece of ballet music, and a piece of the score from some movie meant to highlight a moving, dramatic scene.  
  
The programs she had made for Victor were meant to challenge him: they were appropriately difficult, but with movements that required control, quieter than the ones from last season. Yakov had expected him to complain. He hadn't, though. He'd struggled with some parts, but worked harder on them in response, which was nice to see.  
  
Georgi's programs, on the other hand, both highlighted his natural sense of artistry and interpretation. Lilia still had much to say, of course, though he was apparently thriving in the group ballet lessons. He seemed to have an instinct for keeping his expressions going, and he was good at putting everything together, from arm movements to hand positions to knee bend. If only he could keep his jumps together so well.  
  
"How do you feel?" Lilia had asked the first time Georgi had finished a complete run-through of his free program.  
  
Georgi's eyes shone. "I really like it! There's so much emotion in the music, and it's like I can feel all of it in the choreography – the despair of apparent approaching death! The acceptance of impossible circumstances! The slow dawn of a new idea, and then the rise of hope and the lightness it brings! It's wonderful."  
  
Lilia had nodded approvingly. Well, whatever worked for him, Yakov had thought. If it was seeing pictures and stories like that in a piece of music, that was fine. And after months of work, Georgi had really taken to his programs. Whenever he finished a run-through, he burst into a smile, whether he'd done it perfectly or not. Yakov was sure both of his readiness for the upcoming season, and that taking him as a student had been a good idea. He had a lot of potential; Yakov only had to help him draw it out.  
  
"Compared to me, he's like a 6.0 already," one of his female skaters, almost seventeen, groused from the edge of the rink one day near the end of summer. She was a powerhouse, able to land triple-triple combinations reliably and adding a difficult new one this season, but her presentation scores always lagged the technical ones.  
  
"You could take more dance classes," he told her, to which she sighed. "Or acting lessons."  
  
On center ice, Georgi skipped delicately backward with his body turned open, one hand held softly in front of him, the other arched over his head and towards his front arm. At the end of the skips, he pivoted on one foot and skated away. It was a very pretty movement, and Georgi had it down well. "If I tried that," she said, "I'd look less like a gentleman inviting the lady to dance than a toad about to fall into a pond."  
  
"If it bothers you, then work on it. Dance or acting?"  
  
She sighed again. "I'll check my schedule later." She shook her head as Georgi fumbled a jump, then swooped into a lunge, arms held wide and chest curved forward – Lilia rarely had to tell him to put _more_ into his movements. After he passed them by, she took off to resume her own practice.

She paused to say hello to a friend from another coaching group that was sharing the ice. Yakov couldn't help but notice the difference between his student's obvious muscles and the slender frame of her friend, couldn't help but think—

Victor's mother had asked more questions in the first week Victor had started at the rink. How closely he monitored his students' weights. (Not every day – who had the _time_ – and it depended, were they growing, were they old enough to help keep themselves in check.) If they tried to make sure everyone ate enough, and he'd always thought – if they starved themselves, surely it would show in their performance. Yes, he'd skated on an empty stomach some days, back when he'd been competing, but times were different now.

But her questions had bothered him, somehow. So over the summer, Yakov had tried to do some reading. It had been a while since he'd gone looking at information on sports nutrition, anyway, and it wouldn't hurt to see what the current science said, to make sure him and the rest of his team were all on the same page. The internet made things easier nowadays. A surprising number of people had been willing to send him their papers, or summaries of their findings. He'd started with Russian, then moved on to English with a dictionary in hand, and had ended up reading a stack of print-outs at home so late that Lilia had come in, put her hands on his shoulders, and asked if he was coming to bed.

His main conclusions had been that figure skaters as a whole were not as well-equipped to feed themselves as he had thought. Idiots, the lot of them, himself included. Maybe he should find a proper dietitian for them.

It was still instinct to think that his skater could stand to lose a kilo or two if she wanted, though he wouldn't have said so in case it messed up the jumps she'd held on to so well through puberty so far. But now he wondered if she was as jealous of her friend's appearance as he had been of his more balletic rink mates, if both of them were eating properly. Well, it was something they could talk about later, maybe.

After the ice session was over, he stumbled over Victor and Georgi in one of the hallways – almost literally, as they'd let their legs sprawl out. "Sorry," Georgi yelped, hastily pulling his back in, when Yakov nearly stepped on him. Victor was too busy digging through his bag to notice.

"I think Mama forgot to give me a snack," he concluded when he hit the bottom, flopping his chin on top of the bag.

"You can share mine," offered Georgi.

Yakov pulled an orange out from the pocket of his coat, a leftover from lunch that he hadn't had time to eat, and offered it to Victor. "Either have this, or you can share both of them."

Victor took it with wide eyes. "You're the best coach _ever_." It was a little much for giving him a piece of fruit, but Yakov felt the corner of his mouth twitch up all the same.

"Our old coach didn't like it when we brought snacks," Georgi said, watching Victor tear into the peel. "She said we'd get fat if we ate too soon after training. But Vitya always snuck them in anyway 'cause he got hungry."

Yakov snorted. "Little boys like you who work hard aren't going to get fat as long as you eat healthily. And see, you have good snacks." He nodded at Georgi's container of yogurt. "Although I am thinking of finding a new dietitian to teach all of you about the best foods to eat. Do the two of you think your parents could come meet with one?"

Georgi nodded. "My dad loves cooking," he said. "He always makes sure I have lots of protein and vegetables and everything."

"Good. Vitya?"

"Mama's busy," he said, looking at his orange and picking the pith off one section. "She works a lot. Weekends, too. Maybe when she has a day off again."

"We can work around when is good for her," said Yakov, but Victor just shrugged and snapped the section he was holding in half.

When he looked up again, it was to ask, "When can we work on training for quads?"

"This again? I've told you a million times that it will happen when I decide you're ready for it! It's a miracle you remember anything if something as simple as that doesn't stick with you."

Victor grinned; Georgi, who had always gone quiet around Yakov's yelling when he'd first come to the rink, now giggled instead.

It was true that Victor's mother seemed to be very busy. Georgi's father picked him up half the week, right after lessons were finished. He also lived close to the rink, so the other half of the week, Yakov's oldest men's skater volunteered to walk him home. Victor, on the other hand, lived farther out in a suburb of St. Petersburg, and though his mother always came for him, he stayed much later at the rink. Yakov sometimes saw him reading books, waiting for her to arrive.

One evening, a couple of weeks before school was due to start, Yakov came out and found Victor still sitting near the entrance to the rink, reading a book out loud to himself. It was in French; his pronunciation was better than Yakov's had ever been. Yakov double-checked the nearest clock, and it really was quite late. He should have been picked up an hour ago.

Yakov put his hands in his coat pockets and walked over to Victor. He waited until Victor paused and looked up at him to ask, "Did your mother say she was going to be late picking you up tonight?"

Victor shook his head. "On weekends, she sometimes stays at work late if she has to. But not during the week." He, too, looked over at the clock. "She's never late during the week."

"I'll see if I can reach her at her workplace to ask her, then."

He met Lilia going back to his office. When he explained why he was heading back into the building, she glanced at her watch and raised an eyebrow. "I will go wait in the entrance as well, then."

Nobody answered at the work phone number Victor's mother had given. Nobody answered at home, either. And if she had a mobile, she hadn't written the number down. Well. Perhaps she was still on her way over. Yakov walked back to the entrance and found Lilia helping Victor practice his French, the two of them discussing the book Victor had been reading.

Another half-hour passed. Yakov tried calling Victor's mother again, and again there was no answer. Lilia was keeping Victor distracted – she'd moved on to telling stories from her ballet days, which Victor was listening to with obvious fascination – but he wouldn't stay occupied forever. More importantly, he couldn't stay at the rink all night.

When another half-hour had gone by, and Yakov was still unable to contact Victor's mother, he decided that enough was enough. It was late, past dinnertime for all of them, and Victor had started to anxiously peer out the front of the rink every thirty seconds as though that would summon his mother. Yakov cleared his throat as he sat next to Lilia. "Vitya, do you have anyone else who could pick you up?"

He shook his head. "It's just me and Mama."

"Could you at least get home on your own?" Twelve was old enough to take public transit by himself, wasn't it? Though it was late, and Yakov had the vague idea that modern parents were more paranoid about children wandering around on their own than they had been in his childhood.

"Mama says it's not safe for me to go by myself. And I don't have a house key."

That ruled out one of them taking him there, too. "No neighbors you can stay with? Any other family in the city?"

When Victor shook his head yet again, Yakov looked at Lilia. There really seemed to only be one option left. She returned his gaze, then stood and told Victor, "Put your book away."

"Huh?"

"You are not going to sleep at the rink. You may stay with us for tonight, and tomorrow we will figure out what happened with your mother."

"Really?" Victor shoved his book in his bag and hopped up. "But what if something happened and she gets here and nobody's here?"

So Yakov taped a note on the inside of the rink's door to make Victor feel better, though if something had happened to make Victor's mother unable to either come here or to contact them, he suspected she would not be coming by in the middle of the night.

He and Lilia lived nearby, so it didn't take long to walk back with Victor. Victor didn't have his usual energy, but he did perk up some when he stepped into their apartment. "Wow." He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, then dropped his backpack by his shoes and dashed off to the other side of the living room to peer out the window. "It's so pretty here!" A moment later, he had focused on the photos of dancers that Lilia had put up on the wall, students and colleagues and idols.

Yakov left the room to the sound of Victor asking Lilia who the people in the pictures were. He was too tired to make a real dinner at this point, but they had leftover soup that heated up easily enough, and good bread to eat it with. Victor dug into his portion with enthusiasm; he had to be hungry, too. When they were finished eating, Victor started to help clean up, until Yakov herded him away with the excuse of putting him to bed.

They rarely had anyone over, but they did have a couch in a side room that folded out into a bed. Bundled under some spare blankets, his hair spread out on the pillow, Victor looked almost angelic. Until he frowned, at least. "I hope Mama's okay."

"She probably is."

"She wouldn't forget about me." Victor frowned further, then pulled the blanket up over his mouth. "Even if she had to go to the hospital, I bet she would've called if she could."

Yakov didn't know what was the right thing to say. It was probably true, but that wasn't going to help Victor sleep. "That doesn't mean she won't be fine," he said. "We'll find out in the morning, so get to sleep." Hopefully she would meet them at the rink; if not, Yakov would start calling hospitals, and they could talk about more permanent sleeping arrangements if need be. But that was unlikely.

Victor stared at him. He didn't look mollified at all. Yakov, remembering Victor's penchant for hugs, reached out and put a hand on his hair for a moment. He turned his head into it, and he seemed a little more settled when Yakov pulled his hand away. "Can I have another pillow?" he asked.

Yakov found him another pillow. Victor didn't use it to prop up his head; he pulled it into his arms and snuggled it under his chin like it was a stuffed animal. Maybe he slept with one at home? Did twelve-year-olds still have stuffed animals that they slept with?

"Good night," said Yakov, but as he stepped away, a hand grabbed at his sleeve. With his face still partially covered, Victor's big blue eyes looked even larger than normal as they stared up at Yakov. "What is it?"

"I like your apartment," Victor said.

The soft way he said it made Yakov let out a breath. "You should be complimenting Lilia for that, not me. She's the one who decorated it."

"Then you can tell her." He let Yakov go. "It's nice."

"Good night," Yakov said again, quieter, and he turned off the light for Victor and left him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yakov Week Day #2: Motivation | goals | influences of era on the sport  
> 6.0 system and QUADS QUADS QUADS


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov and Lilia find out what happened. Victor and Georgi go to their first competitions.

In the kitchen, Lilia was putting dishes away. Yakov picked up the last few to help her finish. "He likes your decorating," he told her.

"I had the impression." She gently set a tea cup in the cabinet, right in its place in her line-up. "Doesn't he live far from the rink?"

"Yes. If his mother had finally shown up, I think they would still be on their way home."

She clicked her tongue. "Can't she move closer?"

"I don't know. Affording an apartment might be a problem. Or maybe she works out there. I don't know what she does. He does go to the usual sports school, at least, so he's not going to be spending much time going back and forth from that."

"Still. Using up hours coming and going is a waste of time. There ought to be someone he can stay with. If not a relative, he could always stay with us, if he's quiet enough."

They'd had a few students live with them before, though always older ones than Victor. Sometimes for a couple of weeks, while they looked for a host family, sometimes for a few years. So it wasn't a new idea. "Do you just want more time to give him stretching lessons?"

Lilia made a little sniff. "His dedication is good. His flexibility needs so much work that I wonder if his previous coach was blind, or if she just didn't care because he's a boy and she think that absolves him of certain artistic responsibilities. His stretching coach won't have him up to standard quickly enough by herself."

"We can always talk about it with his mother later." Hopefully. "Victor seems quite close to her, but he loves skating so much that he might be willing to give up seeing her during part of the week." As long as he was quiet enough at night, and neat enough to not drive them crazy – but at least he picked up after himself at the rink most of the time. "I don't know if she would agree to it. Maybe when he's older."

In the morning, Yakov had to practically drag Victor out of bed, and he poked blearily at his breakfast, still in his clothes from the night before. Lilia apparently got fed up with his messy hair halfway through breakfast, as she stood and went to comb it. "Are you going to let it get even longer than this?" she asked, smoothing the strands down.

"Yeah. I want—" He yawned. "I want to keep growing it."

"Then I must teach you to put it up for our lessons soon." She ran her hand down Victor's hair one more time, straightening the last part, then returned to her seat. "Girls with their hair cut above their ears and boys with theirs long enough to pull back. Fashions are certainly changing."

"Mama says we should cut it." Victor picked one last berry off his plate and plopped it in his mouth. "That just makes me wish it would grow faster. I want to see what it looks like."

He would certainly stand out from the other boys. Yakov wasn't sure he would like it, but he also hadn't complained when one of his ladies' skaters had shown up with a pixie cut, and he didn't say a word when any of them slathered on make-up for performances, as long as they were old enough for it to be appropriate. If they wanted to choose garish costumes and not listen to his opinion on how terrible it would make them look, that was their problem.

Victor went quiet again when they left the house, but as they drew near the rink, he burst into a sprint. "Mama!"

And there she was: looking tired, leaning her back against the door to the rink, but there, and reaching out to catch Victor as he crashed into her. "Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Are you okay?" Victor cried, his voice loud even though it was muffled against her shoulder.

She stroked his hair and fussed over him, then looked up at them over his head when they caught up. "I'm so sorry about last night. I fainted at work, and then I was at the hospital, and I was so confused that I didn't even think of calling until it was late. Thank you so much for taking him for the night. I'm sorry, it shouldn't happen again."

"It's fine," said Yakov, before she could apologize again. "We assumed something must have happened. He was well-behaved. Are you feeling better, then?"

"Oh, yes, I'm much better now – Vitya, please don't squeeze so hard—"

They left her and Victor alone and went into the rink. Despite the fact that they had come a little early, Victor was five minutes late to his morning ice session, though he had changed into fresh clothes.

Most mornings, he was a chatterbox even when he was yawning. Today, it was strange to see him quiet as he did edge exercises; even Georgi was talking more than him. Yakov had thought that he would be back to his cheerful self now that he'd seen his mother again, seen that she was fine. Not that he looked sad, exactly, either. Maybe it had given him something to think about.

"Is Vitya sick?" Georgi asked when he was wiping ice off his blades at the end of the session. "He's not saying much."

"Not as far as I know." Victor, still on the ice, was doing a last spread eagle in the final seconds that he had out there. His position was good, and so was his balance; his eyes were fixed on the ice, however. A childish habit that Victor hadn't shown much of these past few months. "Eyes up! And then finish up!"

Victor dragged his eyes up and turned out of the spread eagle. He did a few last strokes, and then he and the other stragglers came off the surface.

He was less quiet in the afternoon, though his skating was a bit heavy. The next day, he looked fine. Yakov kept an eye on him just in case, but he was all smiles, like he always was.

~!~

Victor was bouncing with excitement at his first competition of the season; for once, he was happy to do what Yakov would say, as long as it was directions for warming up and keeping him from getting _too_ excited. At least he only had to deal with Victor; Georgi would be competing somewhere else in a couple of weeks. The extra travel was a bit of a nuisance, but Yakov suspected that Georgi might perform better if he didn't have the extra pressure of Victor competing with him. They would have to, eventually, but it would be good to give Georgi a chance to shine on his own. They didn't need to be compared all the time.

The short program was easy enough – Victor's performance marks were lower than Yakov would have liked, though. Lilia's magic did take some time to work, and Victor was clearly trying but not succeeding yet.

Still, with his high technical marks, he was in first place. They left the arena with Victor humming and skipping along on the balls of his feet. "Don't get overconfident," Yakov said. "There's still the free. You have to do well there, too."

"I will!" Victor grinned up at him.

"You don't get nervous?"

"A little bit, at Nationals last year. But there's hardly anyone here! Why would I get nervous?" He pulled on Yakov's coat. "Did you get nervous when you went to the Olympics? Were there lots of people?"

" _Lots_ of people." Judging by the look on Victor's face, he already couldn't wait to skate in front of all of them. "I was a little nervous. But then I got on the ice, and it was like nothing mattered. I could just skate." There had been the music, and cheers from the crowd, and the movement of his body, and the breath in his lungs, and no extraneous thoughts at all – the perfect performing state.

Yakov missed it, some days. And then he saw the tricks the kids these days were doing, felt the old aches that skating had given him, and decided that coaching was the better option after all.

Victor's free skate started off with a bobble – hand down on the ice, nothing too major – and though in practice he could get visibly frustrated when he didn't do everything perfectly, here he didn't show it. He kept skating, smiling, leaning into an Ina Bauer and rushing out of it. Too fast. Lilia would probably keep yelling at him about that for a while. He would need time to learn artistic expression, but that was only normal - most people did. Georgi seemed to be a rare exception; he still had a lot of maturing to do, of course, but it seemed like he had a natural talent for it.

Yakov normally wouldn't have thought too much of it when a student did a couple of extra crossovers leading into a jumping pass. It could have been nerves, or tiredness. But this was Victor, and Yakov suddenly remembered that quad toe loop he'd done a few months ago, and dammit, had he been right about Victor not listening?

He had. Everyone in the sparse crowd who knew skating gasped when Victor landed it, only a little under-rotated. Yakov's fingers almost made dents in the boards, and his teeth ground together.

As soon as the music was done and Victor had bowed to the judges, Yakov bellowed, " _Vitya!_ "

Victor, completely unrepentant, zoomed over. "I landed it!"

"What did I _tell you_ about not doing quads before I say that you're allowed to?!"

He puffed his cheeks out. "But I landed it! Aren't you at least going to congratulate me for that?"

"I'm not congratulating you for doing anything that I think puts you in danger! I don't care if it's a backflip or a quad." He shoved Victor's skate guards at him and continued the lecture into the kiss-and-cry as they waited for the marks. Victor kept looking away from him as Yakov went through _growth plates_ and _fractures_ and all such apparently unentertaining mentions of why Yakov was upset with him.

And then the damn judges went and gave him high marks. Were children his age even allowed to do quads in these competitions? Honestly.

Victor clapped his hands together at the announcement, and followed Yakov cheerily enough out of the kiss-and-cry and into the hall, where Yakov steered him out of the way of anyone who might have wanted to congratulate him on the jump.

Was there anything he could do besides lecture Victor over and over, and hope he got it into his skull one day? If he'd done this twice already, how many more times? It wasn't like Yakov could threaten him with anything, either – he was hardly going to kick him out, for many reasons, and there was no point to restricting his development by denying him competition or ice time, or the like. Maybe he could make Victor do nothing but figures for a week? He could stand to work on his edges, anyway, and it might help him learn to focus and slow down.

Yakov eyed Victor, who was still smiling to himself, and sat him down again in a quiet corner where nobody would disturb them. Victor had said himself that he didn't care about his old coach yelling; he was completely unfazed when Yakov had lost his temper over the jump. There was little to do in the way of punishment – and Victor must have known that. Why fear consequences? Yakov wouldn't given him any punishment that could possibly sabotage him, and he wouldn't kick him out. Not unless he was proving truly difficult, or was doing something to hamper the other students, and of course the situation was nowhere near that.

"When you get to rink after school on Monday, we're going to have a long talk in my office," said Yakov. Victor rolled his eyes. "Yes, again. I don't like it any more than you do, but if you won't listen once, we'll do it as many times as we need to." He paused to sigh and rub the back of his head, hesitating to say the next words. "Look, is there something that will get you to stop doing quads without permission? Some choreographer I could get in contact with for your senior debut, or—"

Victor straightened so fast that he nearly lost his balance on the bench. "I want a puppy!"

Yakov opened his mouth. Closed it. Stared. "What?"

"A puppy. A poodle! I love poodles, and they don't even shed and they're so smart but also so fluffy and they look like stuffed animals. I want one and I'll cuddle it and take it on walks and everything, I can take care of one. Please? Please? Please?" He started to bend toward Yakov until he had to put his hands on the bench to keep himself up. "Pleeeaaaase?"

"I'm not the one who's in charge of whether you get a dog or not! Ask your mother!"

"But you could help persuade her! Anyway, I heard you and Lilia talking about how maybe I could come live with you during the week."

Yakov put a hand to his face and let out a long sigh. "Do you really want a puppy? When I could get you choreography from—"

"Lilia is fine!"

"Or a week training on the ice with—"

"Oh, well, um, there's a couple of people it would be cool to meet, but – I want a dog, Yakov, please?"

Why was he considering this? He looked at Victor, his hands clasped together after having scooted closer to Yakov. His eyes were so blue, so big, so innocent, so hopeful.

"I would have to talk to your mother and Lilia first." Victor nodded eagerly. "And only if you don't do a single quad before I tell you to. Or triple axels!"

"If I'm good this year, can I have one next summer?"

" _Vitya_. How would that even work? Am I supposed to take your dog away if you start doing them again?"

Victor bit his lip. "I promise I won't!"

"The same way you promised before?"

"But if I had a dog...." Victor redoubled his pleading look. "I _promise_. I want a dog more than anything, Yakov. More than I want to jump quads!"

That did seem to be an awful lot. Yakov sighed again. It was difficult to look away from Victor's beseeching posture. It was the first time he'd seen him acting anything like this. Headstrong little Victor, practically throwing himself at Yakov's feet. "You better mean that," he said. "And I can't promise anything! Your mother is the one who—"

Before he could say anything further, Victor had thrown himself at him. "Thank you thank you thank you _thank you_ you are the best coach ever ever ever in the history of the world I'll take such good care of it I promise I'll do what you say when it comes to jumps—"

"Breathe, would you?" He patted Victor on the head and let him have his hug. Maybe he'd been dreaming of a dog for years; Yakov couldn't imagine why else he'd be so excited by the prospect. Well, they would see if it would stick, and if he'd even need to consider talking to Lilia (who, like Yakov, probably wouldn't be enthused about a dog) or Victor's mother. "First of all, you have to keep your promise. We can talk about it next summer if you do."

Victor nodded furiously against his chest. Yakov gave him a couple more moments before making him break the hug so they could go find his mother, and then to get his medal. Victor rushed over as soon as he saw her and started chattering away about the puppy he already had his heart set on, not one word about the competition he'd just won. It was hard to blame her for the confused look on her face.

A couple weeks later, it was Georgi's turn for his first competition. Yakov had talked with him a little, and he'd said he always got nervous at them. No wonder, though, since he'd also said that their old coach had always sent Victor and Georgi to the same ones, probably to make less work for her and her team. Never mind if Georgi felt overshadowed, even if he had medaled over Victor once last year. An accomplishment, with those programs.

Soon after they'd signed in, Georgi bit his lip and frowned at the crowd of other children in the hallway, talking to their parents or jumping rope or fussing with their appearance. "Coach?"

"Yes?"

"If Vitya was here...." He took a deep breath. "If Vitya was here, I probably wouldn't be able to beat him, would I?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid by bringing Georgi to a separate competition! "He isn't here, so don't worry about him."

"But we're going to be competing with each other some time, right?"

"But he isn't here _today_ , is he?" Yakov snapped. "No, you probably can't beat him right now unless he has a bad day. Even so, I'd be perfectly happy to have you in second, because _someone_ has to be there, and I'd rather it be you than all the other boys here – and I'd be just as happy if Vitya was in second and you were on the top of that podium."

"Oh," whispered Georgi, looking thoughtful.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter. What matters is how well you do today, against the competition you do have, and if you do as well as I know you can. What, do you think that when I'm working with Vitya, I'm thinking about how his spins should be as contained as yours are, and when I'm working with you, I'm comparing your jumps against his? I want to get you to be the best you can be, Zhora, and if you end up better than Vitya some day, good for you, but that's not the goal of your training! We have to think about what you need to fix and what goals you should have next."

He stopped himself there. Georgi was giving him one of those looks, though, the one where his eyes got all shiny and distant. "You _are_ the best coach," he said.

"Why do the two of you keep saying that? Are you picking it up from Vitya?" At least Georgi didn't go for a hug. He stood up straighter. "Now, what are you going to do today?"

"Skate my best," Georgi said solemnly. "And show the judges everything the music makes me feel."

"Good. Focus on that."

Georgi did well in the short program – not perfectly, and Yakov had a lot to say to him afterward – but he didn't pop any of his jumps, or stumble on any of his steps. He still came off a little oddly, to Yakov's eyes – dramatic music like this was difficult to really take seriously on a small child. At least he seemed to enjoy it. Yakov was worried for a moment when he started crying in the middle of the rink afterward, but Georgi was smiling as he came off the ice, wiping tears from his cheeks.

"That felt good," he said, sniffling. Yakov handed him a tissue to press against his face. "Like, the music was just there, and flowing in me, and the story, and...."

"And your skating," said Yakov, because that was the important part. Georgi paid close attention to the usual lecture Yakov gave as they waited for the scores, which left Georgi in third place at the end of the day.

The free skate went even better. Well, not for the other boys. Yakov kept an eye on the rink as Georgi's turn approached – Georgi seemed to be good at warming up without needing close supervision – and winced at some of the falls he saw. The one who went before Georgi slipped out of an early sit spin, and it fell apart from there. The ice looked fine from over here, and Georgi hadn't mentioned anything after his warm-up; maybe it was stress and jitters from an early competition and school starting.

If Georgi had any jitters, they didn't show, which Yakov supposed meant he didn't have any. He skated smoothly around the rink as he waited for his turn to start. When Georgi came over, Yakov gave him a couple of last reminders to focus on doing a clean program, then on a whim, said, "And you remember what you're going to be today?"

"The fairy on the ocean," Georgi said, and then he nodded to himself and skated off.

All he really had to do was land his jumps. And land them he did; the last couple of jumping passes were wobbly, but without major mistakes. The rest of it – Georgi was a good performer, and it showed. That skipping sequence he'd practiced so much was absolutely charming, and after he came out of his last spin, centered to perfection, he did a few more running skips across the ice, each on the last notes of the music, before reaching toward the sky in his ending pose, right as the music ended.

Yakov clapped along with the small audience. That was one of the best showings of that program that Georgi had put on yet. If he could keep this up, and keep improving the program through this season, improving next year and the year after... it was too early to tell for sure at twelve, always, but Yakov had hopes for him. He wasn't quite at Victor's level yet, technically, but everyone learned their jumps at different ages, and he was progressing. Maybe he simply needed a little more time and patience to get them together.

He wondered, all of a sudden, if Georgi had even been receiving the same amount of attention as Victor, given his awful programs from last season. It was easy to focus on those who stood out as much as Victor did, but that didn't mean that others didn't have talent that could be developed.

When the marks came up, Yakov was quite satisfied with them. Well, Georgi could do better – would do better, later – but they weren't bad for his age, and at an early, local competition. It would give him confidence for later ones, ones where he would be up against Victor. "What do you think?"

Georgi, to his surprise, looked at the floor. "It's okay. I wanted better performance scores."

"There are still places to smooth it out," Yakov started, but then he saw how Georgi was slumping on the metal bench. "You know they will only score you so well at your age. But you have a strong foundation. If you keep this up, and stay diligent in your dance classes, maybe you can have straight sixes some day."

That got him to look up. "You think so?"

"I'm not saying you will! It takes a lot of work, and I can't predict the future." Or what the judges were thinking, some days. Georgi's face remained hopeful, and he couldn't help himself from adding, "You're doing well at interpreting the choreography so far. Better than most people your age. I wasn't so musical when I was twelve."

Those few sentences seemed to make Georgi happier than the little gold medal they gave him fifteen minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yakov Week Day 4: bonding


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov helps his skaters de-stress.

The season settled into a rhythm: daily practice, quiet breaks for lunch while the younger skaters were at school, keeping track of how everyone was doing and what their condition was. All four of his senior skaters could qualify for the GPF if things went well, and Yakov was determined to help make that happen.

He finally found a dietitian he was happy with. Victor's mother never did seem to have time to meet with her, but she sent some materials home with Victor after talking to him. The older skaters apparently viewed her advice with varying mixtures of enthusiasm and skepticism, based on what Yakov overheard, but they did start showing up with snacks more often. Time would tell if it would help. It didn't seem to be hurting in the short run, even if what she said ran counter to what Yakov had picked up in his days.

The Grand Prix series meant a tiring amount of travel, and Yakov was happy for the weeks he and Lilia could remain in Russia. Then there would be senior Nationals, and Euros, and novice Nationals, and Worlds – at least a little more spread out, so perhaps they could enjoy their time out of the country more easily.

One day, before Yakov and two of his skaters were due to fly off to France, he caught Victor staring as one of the men practiced his quad salchow. It didn't hurt him to watch, of course – it was often a good way to learn – but Yakov still didn't trust him, though it had been more than two months since his little stunt.

"I'm not gonna do it," Victor said with a huff when he noticed Yakov watching. "I just want to see."

"That's fine. As long as it's _just_ watching."

"I mean, I still want to! When are you going to—"

"When I think you're ready," said Yakov. "We've only been over this five times. Until then, you won't forget your promise, will you?" Victor was good at forgetting things people told him when they weren't any fun – he forgot to write down homework assignments and had to ask Georgi, and he forgot what he was supposed to be practicing when he wanted to do something else instead. Yakov was a little surprised that he'd kept up with this promise so far. Well, he'd apparently been doing all the stretches Lilia wanted, too. Maybe some things were capable of sticking in his scatterbrain.

"I won't," Victor whined, slumping over the boards to peer at Yakov. "I want to, but then I remember about my dog, so I just do them in my head instead."

"In your head?"

Victor nodded, folding his arms on the boards. "I pretend really hard – like, here's the set-up, here's the toe pick, and then I jump and do the quad and come out of it, and then I do it again and again until I''m bored. It's not as fun as actually jumping, but at least I don't get tired!" He gave Yakov a clear are-you-proud-of-me look.

Was he already adept at using visualization? "That's very good, Vitya. Did you learn that from your old coach?"

He shook his head. "Zhora told me about it. I always would practice my routines and stuff to myself, but he told me that he likes to do the program in his head when he goes to sleep before competitions, so he doesn't get as nervous. Or when he has trouble with things. He imagines doing it right so it's easier later when he has practice." He straightened away from the boards. "You still do that, right?" he called as Georgi passed by, and he halted and came over. "Imagining doing your programs?"

Georgi nodded. "I have a really good imagination, so I can think of how the blades feel and everything. And nowadays I pretend coach is there reminding me of things." He gave Yakov a shy smile. "I think it helps me remember everything you say."

"Zhora," said Victor, deepening his voice in obvious imitation. "Pull your arms back more! How are you supposed to land a double axel with a stiff torso?"

"Vitya, you are supposed to spin in _circles_ ," said Georgi, joining in, his voice going deeper than Victor's. "Not in lines! Circles!"

"The two of you," chimed in Yakov's oldest skater, coming to a slow stop beside their little group, "get back to work! This is an ice session, not a gossip session!"

Yakov put a hand to his forehead as his students laughed together. "I am very glad that you are all capable of using visualization techniques. Now _put them to use_ and show me some hard work."

They laughed again. Victor zipped off to return to practicing those wobbly spins of his, while Georgi and the other student left more slowly, still chatting with each other – it seemed to Yakov that Georgi had done well at endearing himself to the older skaters. He got along well with everyone.

Yakov went back to the lesson he himself was supposed to be teaching, and that weekend in France he was the proud coach of a gold and silver medalist.

The GPF was hard-fought, and so was the senior Nationals, where his female students took gold and bronze, and both of his male skaters just barely lost out to some athletic upstart from Moscow. After that, Euros was on the horizon, but Yakov took one look around his rink when they got back and could see that the stress of competition was starting to get to everyone, though they were trying not to show it. Georgi, at least, was doing fine, always off in his own head when left to his own devices, having come in a solid second to Victor's first at their last competition. Victor was obsessing over his jumps, though, trying to get the technique right, and had to be watched to make sure he didn't give himself an injury from doing too many. The older skaters got along, and Yakov thought the competition helped them all push themselves harder - but sometimes things did get too tense, when they were fighting for the same place on the podium.

Maybe a break would help everyone re-focus before they drove themselves crazy. They could spare a few hours. Better not to burn everyone out halfway through the season.

So he organized a trip for them, one early weekend morning, out of the city to a frozen lake. At this time of day, they had it to themselves, the light still weak but getting brighter. Yakov had told everyone to bring an old pair of skates and a hot lunch to have before they returned to the rink for their usual practice and workouts.

The older skaters were sighing and complaining about the cold as they laced up their skates. Georgi, however, practically flew onto the ice, delight shining from his face. And if he was out there, of course Victor wasn't long to follow. "No jumps!" Yakov shouted after them. The ice was probably thick enough, but he didn't trust any of them not to trip over a rock trying for it. Anyway, that wasn't the point of coming out here.

With Georgi and Victor chasing each other around the ice, laughing and chatting loudly about how pretty the trees were, the older skaters got on to the ice with no further complaints after Yakov gave them a long look. It took less than two minutes for them to start letting loose as well.

Lilia had come with them. Yakov looked at her, perfectly radiant in the early-morning light, wrapped in a blanket, sitting nicely on their bench with her boots still firmly on her feet. "Did you want to come skate with us?"

"Perhaps in a while." She _could_ skate, but not that well. He wouldn't be surprised if she chose not to. Bending down, she pulled a book from her bag and opened it in her lap.

"If you'd like." He kissed her cheeks and went to go chaperone the students.

He passed by one student, arcing back and forth on edges, no particular rhythm to whether she was on the insides or the outsides. Another was doing two-footed spins, the shape of his long coat flaring around him a strange and unfamiliar sight. Georgi was simply skating in slow backward circles, his head tilted back to take in the scenery. There was a serene smile on his face.

"Yakov!" Victor raced over to him. "I haven't gone pond skating in _ages_."

"Neither have I," admitted Yakov. "Spend all day teaching the lot of you in the rink, and I don't exactly want to put on a pair of skates when I get home."

"Mama used to take me when I was little. She taught me to skate! And then I started taking lessons, and we kind of stopped going." He shrugged. "It's fun when it's just us out here. There's so much room!" He did an elaborate twirl, ending with a hop. "If I ever get rich someday, maybe I'll buy a rink just for us, and you can use it as much as you want."

"You would have to be very rich for that," said Yakov, "and that would be very generous of you."

"If I ever get rich, it'll be because you helped me skate so well." He bounded back over to give Yakov one of his trademark hugs. Honestly, this child. "You can coach us on it and my dog can come."

"I want lots of mirror panels in that rink you're promising," his younger ladies' skater called as she passed by. "And no hockey players allowed!" She was doing long, long spirals around the edge of the pond, riding out the little bumps on the imperfect surface. Spirals were not her best element, but in her nice coat and dark tights, they looked more elegant than normal.

"Don't put ideas in his head," Yakov called back as Victor laughed.

"Yakov, can you spin me? Like the pairs skaters?"

"Like their death spirals? That's too dangerous." Death spirals weren't the worst thing pairs skaters did, but they sure were something else. Yakov's singles skaters were bad enough. He wasn't sure his heart would be able to put up with the extra injuries the thrown partners went through, the accidental slices from a partner's skates, the fear of someone getting dropped.

"With both arms? Just a little? Please?"

"Well—" Victor was doing the thing with his eyes again. Well, this whole exercise was about relieving stress. If it kept him from trying jumps, Yakov could stand to indulge him for a few minutes. "You must hold on very tightly. Don't let go!"

"I won't!" Victor grabbed for both his arms, and Yakov wrapped his fingers firmly around Victor's wrists. They were tiny things, thin, nothing but the bone and skin to them. So spindly. He hoped he would grow into them.

Yakov started to spin them, first slowly, then a little faster as he became more confident in the security of the grip. They didn't have to go that fast for Victor to burst into a smile. It really wasn't that much like a death spiral, but as long as he was having fun, that was fine.

Soon Victor was playing around with it, arching his back like so, lifting one foot. After a couple of minutes, Yakov spied Georgi over his shoulder. He had apparently been distracted from his aesthetic appreciation of the scenery, and was now hovering in that shy way children had sometimes.

"Do you want a turn?" he asked.

"Can I? It looks fun."

Victor let go of Yakov without too much fuss. Georgi took to the circular motion even more easily than Victor had, and Yakov swore he could hear him humming something as Yakov turned them slowly. Halfway across the pond, Victor and one of the other students were spinning each other and laughing, with the smaller difference in their mass meaning that they both went in circles.

Georgi eventually danced off. Everyone seemed to be having a good time – though it would be difficult to be too serious in these lovely surroundings. Victor did eventually manage one jump when Yakov wasn't looking, but at least it was only a single, and he didn't do it again. Perhaps because Yakov knew better than to let him out of sight.

When he saw Lilia at the edge of the ice, poking it with one skate, he skated over and offered her a hand. She took it, and though she was slow as she stepped on the ice, she wasn't hesitant, and as they started to stroke around the pond together, she was steady. That balletic balance served her well. Yakov felt young again, for a minute, like the two of them were on a simple date.

The moment was, of course, shattered when another of his students just had to do a jump.

After some amount of time – Yakov hadn't bothered with a watch – they all trundled off the ice to have their early lunch before it got too cold. Really it was more of a late second breakfast, as the sun was still not very high in the sky. Yakov watched his students chatting easily with each other, relaxed despite the intensity of their rivalries on ice, and felt a sort of quiet happiness in his chest. They were a tough bunch to manage, tougher when they were competing directly with each other, but they never failed to try their best, or to stop surprising him with what they could do.

Some time later, back at the rink, the air was easier. Yakov went from student to student and could see that the outing had helped. Even Victor eased up on the jumps before Yakov had to tell him to, and Georgi was still wearing his far-off expression from the pond.

When he came across the both, later, after they were done for the day and waiting for their parents, both of them had their eyes closed. "We're imagining our quads," Georgi said, when he peeked one eye open and saw Yakov.

"Properly?"

"Are you going to coach us in our heads, too?" Victor asked, wriggling on the bench like he thought that sounded like fun.

"Am I – what do you think I can do? Walk you through it without seeing anything?"

They both sat back against the wall, expectant. Yakov rubbed his forehead. What the heck. It had been a long day. He described the jump to them in minute detail, from having enough speed for the jump but not too much, the light picking technique that Victor was slowly starting to get, finally – the rotations, legs crossed properly and arms drawn in tight, the landing, the nice check position. He reminded them of the sound of the ice, the feel of it under their blades, the force of the rotation they had to throw themselves into and then pull themselves out of.

Victor frowned afterward, but Georgi smiled. "That was really good, coach."

"How long until we can do them for real?" Victor asked. Again.

"When your doctors and I are satisfied that it's not too dangerous on your growing bones. For the fiftieth time, Vitya, it's not a race! Do you not remember the promise?" Victor squirmed in his seat, but nodded. "You need to be more patient, like Zhora is."

"I do want to do it some day!" Georgi added. "But I'll wait until you say so."

Victor sighed and slumped back against the wall. "And then you'll teach them to us? The toe and the salchow and – I want to do all of them."

" _All_ of them?"

"Especially the flip!" Victor jumped up. "I want to land the first quad flip! It's my favorite jump, Yakov, will you teach me? And the loop and my lutz when I fix it, and even the axel if it's possible! And I want to do a triple axel-triple loop like Sasha Abt did, and still have cool step sequences and spin as well as you used to—"

Yakov had about half a second to wonder who had shown him the old videos before Georgi had leapt up, too. "And to go to the Olympics like you did and skate as beautifully as a ballet dancer. I want to skate to Romeo and Juliet! And Giselle. And lots of other pretty music – I want to make people cry because I made them feel so much just by skating!"

"I want to do Swan Lake!"

"I want to jump so high I clear the boards and land everything perfectly!"

He looked down at them, these two boys with dreams shining in their eyes and spilling out of their mouths, and could only shake his head at how high they were aiming. "That's quite enough," he said. "It's good to have high expectations, but one goal at a time. We can talk about music when it's summer, and you can skate to whatever I approve. When you're old enough for the Olympics, we'll do our best to get you there. Now. What do you want to do by the time we get to Nationals for you two? Besides winning?"

"Skate cleanly and elegantly," said Georgi. "No falls!"

"Fix my lutz and double axel," said Victor.

"There you go." The lutz might still be a work-in-progress – Yakov had mentally grumbled about whoever hadn't made sure he had it right from the start too many times to count. His axel was looking better, though. "Good, clear goals." There was the sound of the door opening; Yakov turned his head and saw Georgi's father. "Now, make sure you rest properly on your day off, and then I expect you to apply yourselves when you get back."

"Of course," chirped Georgi, diving to collect his things before he sprinted off.

Victor peered up at him. "You can teach me the quad flip, right? Do you think I can land it?"

"I don't know, Vitya. You're only thirteen. I can't predict the future that far ahead." When Victor continued to stare, he reluctantly added, "I think you have the raw talent for it. We'll see what we think as you get older and your body grows."

That put his usual smile back on his face. Watching him spin on the mats, singing to himself as he waited for his mother, made Yakov wonder. People hadn't done quads, until they had, and then men kept landing them. People had wondered if a women could do a triple axel, and then that Japanese woman had done it. Maybe Victor would do the five quads – except the axel, because Yakov had a hard time swallowing that one – in a competition some day, one after the other, and the world would stare in wonder.

Or maybe not. Yakov preferred to keep his expectations realistic. But things were changing these days. It was hard to tell what the limits were. And Victor certainly wanted to break them. Yakov may not have let him practice them, but he could already do a quad toe loop, maybe even the salchow, and he was only thirteen.

"After Nationals," said Victor, now balancing on one leg in some strange pose, "can I start living with you and Lilia and get my poodle?"

"We'll talk about the dog later." Yakov still couldn't believe he was still even thinking about it, to be honest. But the promise had been working well so far. "As for living with us... we need to talk to your mother first." She seemed so busy with her work that it would be difficult to find the time. "Are you sure you want that? Living away from your mother?"

"She's busy anyway and it takes so long to get home. And I want Lilia to help me with my stretches. They always go better when she does them. And the food you made was good! Can you teach me? Sometimes I make my own meals when Mama has work, but they're not very good."

"Maybe, if you listen better in the kitchen than in the rink."

Victor laughed. His head jerked up at some sound Yakov hadn't caught. "Oh, there she is." And there she was. Victor bounded over to his bag, then paused after picking it up to throw his arms around Yakov. "Thank you for taking us skating outside! It was fun. Even more fun than practice!"

He patted Victor's shoulder. "It's good that you enjoy training. You're going to need a lot of it if you want to land your quad flip."

Victor just smiled at that, then let Yakov go to join his mother. Yakov watched them leave, then turned, ready to find Lilia and go home himself.

Not that it would help anyone any, but as he waited for her to finish talking with one of her students, he imagined something himself. Georgi, skating a heartbroken Romeo, or perhaps Juliet, the arena full of tears; Victor in a feathery costume, turning and doing a quad flip, everything perfect: good position, all four revolutions in, steady landing. Imagined them on the podium under the bright lights at the Olympics, both of them beaming, though he didn't really bother coloring in the medals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yakov Week Day 5: cheat day | vacation | holidays
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


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